November 1, 1981
by Serpentseeker
Summary: A look at Petunia and Vernon Dursley on the morning they find Harry on their doorstep.
1. Petunia Dursley

This story hopefully will become my attempt at a Harry-in-Slytherin story. I have plenty of ideas but it might be awhile before I can get them written. This story probably won't be a proper story because experience has taught me I can't write chaptered fics. Instead it will just be a collection of scenes. I hope you enjoy.

xxxXxxx

If Petunia Dursley were asked to pinpoint the worse moment of her life, there were a few that she could answer the question with.

There was one thing that would immediately leap to mind and it required Petunia to strain for the memories of her six-year-old self. That event had been the catalyst for anything else that sprung to mind when asked the question: the birth of her younger sister.

But, upon reflection, Petunia would grudgingly admit that it was only later circumstances that overshadowed the event. Get a few glasses of wine into her (only the best though, none of that cheap, sparkling rubbish) and she would testify with slurring words that her six-year-old self had rather looked forward to Lily's birth. Back then, the negative effects of another sibling hadn't occurred to Petunia. Back then Petunia had only been concerned with how much fun she would have with a baby sister.

Six-year-old Petunia had dreamed about what she could teach her sister and how much she would be adored by said sibling. She would lie awake long after lights out fantasising about scenarios and smile into the darkness before sleep claimed her.

Then Lily was actually born. The fantasy shattered and gave way to the bitter reality.

Petunia was completely dissatisfied with Lily from the moment she saw the red, wrinkled creature swaddled in her exhausted mother's arms. It was ugly and didn't do anything except sleep, cry, poop, eat and take up their parents' time. From then on Petunia hated Lily, hated their parents and hated how her picturesque life had changed.

At that point of the story Vernon would pry the latest glass of wine out of Petunia's grip, wrap a beefy arm around her and get her to their bedroom or out the car as quickly as he could without offending their guests or hosts, respectively. He would make the age-old excuses for his wife - very tired, things have been stressful, et cetera, et cetera. Once they were alone in their house Vernon would go back to his passed out wife and silently do everything he could to make the next morning comfortable for her.

There were only two instances where more of the story was revealed. The first was at the annual Christmas party at Vernon's first workplace. Petunia got uproariously drunk and spent the rest of the evening ranting about her perfect sister to anyone in the vicinity. How perfect everyone thought Lily was. How much prettier Lily was - she always had been. How Lily hadn't even attended Petunia's wedding. An appointment, Lily had claimed. Year long waiting list. Unmissable.

"Unmissable!" Petunia slurred out. "Her own sister! Married!"

She would have had a few sympathisers on that point if it weren't for the venomous adjectives used afterward to describe Lily.

In the end, a red-faced Vernon managed to get his wife out of the building and into the car. He handed in his resignation the next day, unable to look his boss in the eye. Months later he was climbing the ladder at Grunnings and declining the invitation to the company Christmas party. He declined every subsequent invitation as well and has no plans of ever accepting one.

Vernon was the only witness to the last part of Petunia's story, told on the night their nephew arrived on their doorstep. Unlike the other recitations of the story, this one was told in the privacy of their bedroom and Petunia was stone-cold sober.

xxxXxxx

The next incident that would come to mind would be Lily's wedding. If asked the question that had been asked of Petunia, Vernon would also give this as one example.

Petunia only accepted the invitation to show off how well she was doing. She turned up with Vernon in his best suit on her arm, a diamond ring glinting on her ring finger and the swell of a pregnant stomach under one of her best dresses. (Not her best though - Lily's wedding didn't warrent that honour, even if it was to show up Lily).

Petunia won't say much on the event. What she will say is that it was the first time the sisters had seen each other in years and her sister looked radiant. This last part will almost be said with a stiff-lipped bitterness that speaks volumes.

On the drive home from the wedding (which they left from early) Petunia would admit some further details to Vernon. During the wedding party the couple had been separated for ten minutes. In those ten minutes Lily had dragged Petunia into a secluded corner and confided in her. She told Petunia she was eight weeks pregnant, that Petunia was the only one who knew, that she wanted Petunia to be the first to know. Then she looked at the evidence of Petunia's own pregnancy with wounded eyes.

Petunia would tell Vernon one more detail about that moment: that was the first time she experienced the feeling of pure hatred. She would tell him in a barely audible voice. Vernon would pull into the closest side-street, park and hold her hand as the world moved by outside their car.

To this day Petunia is unable to tell if that hatred was directed at herself or at Lily. Sometimes she thinks it is toward the both of them. Often she decides it was definitely toward just one of them. The thing she can't decide is which. It changes every time she thinks of Lily.

She tries her best to not think about Lily.

xxxXxxx

In the end she would answer the question with absolute certainty. She would look the questioner straight in the eye and say, unflinchingly and without shame, "The day I opened the door and found my nephew on my doorstep."

xxxXxxx

The day everything changed for good started off just like any other day.

An hour after the sun had dared to show its face over the rim of the horizon, there was a sign of life in the master bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive. Petunia Dursley stirred and woke, blinking in a bemused manner at the stream of sunlight slipping through the gap between the curtains. Moments later she was easing out from under the rose-patterned duvet and dressing quietly before slipping out of the room.

Five minutes later bread was browning in the toaster, bacon and eggs were frying on the stove and Petunia was wondering if she should make pancakes the next day. In turn that reminded her of the milk bottles she knew were waiting on her doorstep. With a last glance at the stove top she padded through the house, undid the locks and opened the door.

As the shrill scream split the air birds took flight, all those slumbering jerked awake and chaos broke out.

Vernon Dursley came galloping down the stairs, ready to take on whatever was threatening his wife. Dudley Dursley woke with a start and seeing he was alone, began to wail. But all this went unnoticed by Petunia for the baby had stirred and opened its eyes.

Lily's eyes.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she was shocked motionless. It took Vernon reaching her side and demanding if she was okay to get her moving again.

"Get it inside!" she hissed, still unable to do herself. "Quickly! Before the neighbours see!"

It was a futile endeavour - all up and down Privet Drive windows and doors were opening and tousled heads were being poked out. Still, neither Vernon nor Petunia seemed to realise this. He scooped up the baby and darted into the kitchen with a speed that belied his considerable bulk. His wife kicked the front door shut, managed to get her bearings long enough to lock the door and then followed.

In the kitchen she found Vernon handling the baby it had a contagious disease. They stared at each over the baby's head for a long moment. Then Petunia tossed her head with a frustrated noise and began to pace. She paced for a long time, just trying to figure out the hows and whys of her sister's child appearing on her doorstep. No logical answer appeared in her mind and came to a stop with a sound not unlike a snarl.

It was at that point that Vernon spotted the letter.

xxxXxxx

"Well," Vernon sighed when the echo from the powerful voice had finished ringing in the kitchen's silence, "we have the spare room. I suppose he can have that." As he spoke he stole a look at the baby now lying on the kitchen table. It squirmed and wriggled under his gaze and he found it hard to connect the image with the one that Albus Dumbledore had described in his letter - his letter _that had read itself out loud_! Looking at this small, happy creature he was tempted to doubt it had even a smidgeon of the importance the letter had bestowed on it. But babies grew into children and child eventually grew into adults. This he knew from the plans he and Petunia had for their own child, Dudley.

And some babies turned into very important adults somewhere down the line, adults that could live up to the importance bestowed on them in letters that read themselves. It was that knowledge that led Vernon to his concession.

Petunia opened her mouth to agree but the sudden flash of memory made the words stick in her throat. Before she could help it, she was remembering Lily's wedding. For some reason her mind was fixating on one specific moment: the moment she walked out of the party clutching Vernon's arm in one hand and cupping her stomach with the other. She had walked out with her head held high but she had felt just an insect trying to eke out a survival in the dirt.

With that old shame in her mind, Petunia looked at baby which stilled and looked back placidly. She couldn't look away from those brilliant green eyes, the eyes of her sister. Childhood memories came flooding back. Memories of that oh-so fleeting time between complete ignorance and bitter reality.

Her forehead creased in a frown and she tore her gaze away.

"No," she said firmly. "He can have the cupboard under the stairs." And on that note she swept out of the kitchen and up the stairs to calm a still wailing Dudley. It was the first and last time he went ignored by his parents.

Vernon was left in the kitchen with breakfast burning on the stove and his nephew wriggling on the kitchen table. Upstairs his son was continuing to wail even as he was cradled in Petunia's loving arms while under the stairs there was a cupboard waiting to be inhabited by a baby and spiders instead of just spiders. With a sigh he turned everything off, scooped up his nephew and while handling him like a ticking time bomb, went to see about the cupboard.

xxxXxxx

That night it took a long time before Petunia and Vernon felt like sleeping. As hours ticked by they sat up on their respective sides of the bed, staring at the opposite wall through the darkness. As the clock ticked past twelve o'clock, Petunia took a deep breath. It was a shaky one and wet with the threat of tears.

"She was my sister," she murmured and her voice cracked on the last word. Vernon stretched out one arm and she curled into it like a child. "I loved her."

It would be a long time before Lily was a topic of discussion in their household.


	2. Vernon Dursley

The entire sum of Vernon Dursley's interaction with James Potter is a five minute conversation at most, yet the moment he lays eyes on the man's infant son he remembers him in perfect clarity. Oh yes, he remembers James Potter.

James Potter had failed to impress Vernon; gravity-defying hair, teasing hazel eyes behind round-framed glasses and a devil-may-care attitude. Of course the man had been unemployed; "I'm looking for a job - gotta support the family," he had informed Vernon, throwing a tender look at his wife over his shoulder. Vernon remembers the rush of superiority he felt - he had a solid, steady job _and _money in the bank. His increasing family would never want for anything! He had doubts Potter could say the same thing.

And then there was those friends of his; the twitchy rat-like man, the sickly looking man with a kind smile that made Vernon fume, and the groom's best friend: a pale-eyed, dark-haired man with a scornful twist to his mouth.

When he and Petunia walk out on the wedding party all he can think about is the way they looked at him, as if, even in all their irresponsibility and immaturity, they were better than him.

xxxXxxx

It only takes one look at his nephew for the old shame to come rushing back and he drags in a shuddering breath. He uses that memory to hold himself back from arguing with Petunia - he may have intensely disliked James Potter but making his son sleep in a cupboard just on his unfortunate heritage seemed a bit harsh.

He's preparing the cupboard when the thought strikes him. It comes as such a blow, he has to sit back on his heels and let it wash over him for a moment

He's _won_.

Sure James Potter and his friends made him feel less than human, but that's in the past. James Potter is _dead_, along with his wife, and his son is an orphan. Whereas Vernon is alive and...Well, not exactly healthy but a damned sight better than James Potter. And maybe his wife is to hav more children but she's breathing and healthy and she gave him a son. A son that will grow up strong and happy and most importantly, with two parents.

The idea makes him smile and fills him with a peaceful, benevolent feeling. It's that which makes him lay his nephew down in the nest of blankets with all the care he would normally reserve for his own child.

Vernon doesn't sleep easily that night but that's beyond his control. The next night, however, he goes to bed with a light heart and does so for many years after.


End file.
